


Not According to Plan

by Vialana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, F/F, Fluff, Get Together, Meet-Cute, Miscommunication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4889005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vialana/pseuds/Vialana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malia has a plan for her first few days at Beacon Hills High: get a start on passing her classes and maybe make some friends. The simple act of finding and returning a pen to its owner somehow manages to complicate this plan and her interactions with the cute girl with the pigtails and spiderweb leggings whose name Malia really wants to know.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not According to Plan

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure indulgent fun and I hope everyone who reads it goes away with a smile on their face and figurative cavities.

Every movie about a new girl at school seemed to focus on her finding friends and trying to fit in. While that was something Malia Tate was concerned with, it wasn’t causing the sort of social trauma that had those girls crying onto their pillows at night. She didn’t care about the latest fashion trends or hairstyles. Sure, her car was new but it was boring and safe and functional. She didn't know the popular bands or slang and her knowledge of pop culture was awful. Sure, she wanted to make friends but pretending to be someone she wasn’t just to fit in sounded exhausting. She had too many other things to worry about before even thinking about tackling the issue of proper social behaviour.

What did have her biting her nails was the school work. That bullshit about first days easing you into a new year and a more difficult workload was exactly that: bullshit.

Malia sat on the bleachers by the lacrosse field after her first day, pinning her various worksheets down with pens and her empty lunchbox and trying to ignore the shrill whistle dictating the lacrosse team as she tried to make a plan for the semester. It would make sense for most people to do this at the library — it too was open after school. But Malia missed being outdoors. Her last school left a lot desired in regards to formal education but it had put a lot of focus on nature and movement. Most of her classes had been outdoors and the teachers were so laid back. Part of her hated that the school had been shut down after a surprise police raid but she had also been excited to try her hand at a normal public school after years of pleading with her dad.

So far her experience with normality was less than enjoyable. Who knew she needed to know more than how to survive in the wild without access to food or shelter? That actually seemed more relevant than calculus.

Still, she'd talked her dad into this; she needed to pass. It would probably get easier as she understood more. For now, though: highlighters.

The lacrosse coach blew his whistle again. The team in their bright red practice vests gathered together; a few jeered as he started ranting at one of the players who'd apparently missed a pass so simple Coach's dead grandmother could catch it. Two girls at the other end of the bleachers gossiped as they watched the practice session. Malia finished her study plan. No. 15 jogged slowly past the bleachers for their first lap of punishment, their large vest slipping down one shoulder.

The despondent player was on their tenth lap of the lacrosse field, slowing down as they passed the bleachers again, when Malia slammed her biology textbook shut. She finished her readings, had a basic study plan drawn up and had organised her notes in her folder. She might not make top of the class but she was definitely going to make it through the rest of the year with grades good enough to get into senior year. She wasn't going to let her father down or give that prick Harris the satisfaction of failing her. Her other teachers hadn’t really made much of an impression beyond a vaguely concerned and instructive blur, but she was going to show them too.

Coach blew his whistle and ended training, calling over no. 15 to yell some more. The other lacrosse players tumbled off the field in a messy cloud of laughter and sweat as Malia packed her bag. She finally managed to fit her textbooks in the bag and grabbed her folder as she stood.

As she stepped off the bottom step of the bleachers, Malia had to grab onto the rail when a red blur bumped into her. No. 15 barely stopped to turn and say "Sorry!" in a strangled voice before they finally managed to wrestle their bag into submission and jog the rest of the way to the change rooms.

Malia rubbed her elbow as she scowled at the back of the fumbling lacrosse player. She hitched her own backpack more securely over her shoulders as she started making her way to the parking lot.

Something shiny on the ground stopped her only a few steps away. She squinted at the object as she bent to investigate.

It was a pen. Silver with a stylised black bat forming the clip and smaller engraved bats dotting the length of the casing. Malia was not so socially stunted that she couldn’t recognise the Batman logo. But weren't those cartoons for kids? Maybe she wasn't the only oddball in the school.

She picked up the pen and looked around. The field and bleachers were deserted — even the coach had vanished without her noticing, which was quite the feat for the loud man. Maybe she could catch no. 15 when they were leaving? But, hanging around the change rooms after practice was kind of creepy and what if they didn't go to the parking lot? What if they went to the library or walked from one of the other entrances or caught the bus?

Maybe she could just wait until tomorrow's practice and give it back then.

Nodding to herself, Malia tucked the pen into the pocket of her hoodie and made her way to the parking lot to head home.

Who knows, maybe she'd make her first friend tomorrow. Maybe they could explain calculus to her.

 

 

 

The next day at school, Malia had a plan. She headed straight for the library after parking her car. Most libraries had yearbooks, so it stood to reason that No. 15 might be in last year's. So long as they were on the team last year. And had the same number.

Still, it was a starting point.

Too bad the librarian wouldn't cooperate.

Apparently, Beacon Hills High had a problem with vandalism that was specifically contained to former yearbooks. It was such a huge problem that all copies for all years were kept behind the desk. They had harsher restrictions than reference books — students couldn’t borrow them and you could only read than at the desk under the piercing gaze of the librarian.

Malia withered under the suspicious gaze of the old woman and only managed to glance at last year’s lacrosse feature to find out 15 wasn’t on last year’s team before she ran away from the frightening woman.

Plan A was back in motion: wait until afternoon practice and ambush by the bleachers.

The five-minute bell rang and Malia pulled out her schedule. Perfect. Math. At least she'd attempted all the questions. She might have stumbled over one right answer.

She was one of the first to class. A good impression couldn't hurt, despite how much she wanted to skip instead. Making her way to her seat from yesterday, she tripped over a bag in the aisle.

"Whoa, sorry about that." A gangly boy half-heartedly kicked the bag under his desk.

As she was looking down at the obstruction, Malia saw a red jersey hanging out. Without thinking, she reached down and grabbed it. It _was_ a lacrosse jersey but the 24.

"Uh, can I help you?" The boy wasn’t really asking; it was more a pointed demand.

Malia had been scowling down at the jersey, irrationally blaming it for not being the right one. She defiantly met the owner's eyes as she shoved it back to him, refusing to be embarrassed by yet another social faux pas.

"Do you know the No. 15?" she asked instead of explaining herself.

"Why?" The guy was still eyeing her warily, looking a bit ridiculous as he clutched his jersey to his chest.

"I got business with ’em." Malia shrugged nonchalantly.

He snorted. "Okay, Don Corleone."

Malia frowned at the unfamiliar reference. She would have pressed her inquiry but the teacher came in and she continued on to her seat instead.

No. 24 continued watching her as she sat down and unpacked until the teacher caught his attention with a sharp, "Stilinski!" It didn’t deter him from texting surreptitiously under the desk every time the teacher wasn’t looking.

Malia refused to meet his gaze every time he turned to stare at her. Part of her was afraid she'd blush. The other larger part was too focused on trying to understand the lesson and frantically write notes before the teacher wiped them from the board.

She did manage a smile when Stilinski squawked as his phone was confiscated for the lesson.

 

 

 

Since it was only her second day, Malia hadn’t yet scoped out a favoured place for lunch. The cafeteria was too noisy and the bleachers were completely filled — likewise the tables dotting the courtyards. For now, she sat under one of the trees in the main courtyard by the library and nibbled at her sandwich while she read through the textbook her history teacher had assumed they’d all read the previous year.

Her concentration only broke once as she heard a familiar voice at one of the tables.

Malia looked up to see Stilinski shoving the shoulder of another boy while they both laughed. They were sitting with the two girls Malia had seen watching practice from the bleachers yesterday. She thought the redhead might be in the same Math class as her and Stilinski, and she might have seen the brunette in French. All four teenagers turned as a new arrival approached the table.

Malia stared at the girl waving her hands around in explanation. She was really cute, wearing her long black hair in pigtails and sporting an overlarge Mickey Mouse hoodie. Hints of a pink pleated skirt that matched her bright ankle boots peeked out from under the bottom of the hoodie and brushed the top of her black leggings patterned with white spiderwebs.

Malia had never seen anyone like her before. No one else seemed to dress like her and her mannerisms as she laughed with her friends were so expressive and endearing. And she was attractive; Malia was certain she was drooling as she watched this girl with her friends.

The girl looked up, mid-laugh, and caught Malia’s gaze. Her expression dropped, eyes widening, and she quickly broke the gaze to sit down and pull her bag into her lap to rummage around.

Malia frowned. That wasn’t encouraging. She looked away from the girl to realise her friends had turned to see what had spooked her.

The redhead’s eyes were narrowed dangerously; Stilinski’s expression wasn’t too far away from that same venom. The other two looked confused but also wary.

Yeah, that whole ‘making friends’ thing was definitely not going to plan.

Malia looked away from the group and returned her attention to her dry history textbook. She tried to take a bite of her sandwich but raised the wrong hand and got a mouthful of yellow highlighter instead.

She just had to get through her readings and this afternoon's errand and then she could properly concentrate on making friends. (And maybe learning the cute girl’s name.)

 

 

 

As soon as the final bell rang, Malia made her way to the bleachers to wait for the lacrosse team to arrive. She sat down at the bottom near the end by the path to the change room and pulled out her history book and highlighter while she waited.

It didn’t take too long for the team to start making their way to the field. The first few guys raced each other to the goal. Malia almost didn’t catch their numbers on their vests as they bolted by but neither was the 15. She put aside her book and stood up, not wanting to miss her opportunity.

“Hey, what are you doing here?”

Malia turned at the sound of Stilinski’s voice. He and his friend from lunch were jogging towards her — both dressed in practice gear and their numbered vests. Stilinski was scowling at her but his friend was pulling him towards the field.

“Come on Stiles, you promised you’d help.”

“But Scott——”

“Promised!”

Scott managed to pull Stilinski onto the field after dumping their bags on the sideline with the others. Scott was No. 11. He did glance over his shoulder at Malia once before calling all the players already on the field together. More players arrived and they soon started on warm up drills once Coach and his whistle showed up.

Malia couldn’t see the 15 anywhere.

She waited a few more minutes before deciding to pack up and head home. This whole thing was starting to get ridiculous. It was just a pen. Maybe she could talk to Scott tomorrow or something. He seemed a bit more reasonable than Stilinski.

Malia slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped off the bleachers only to almost collide with someone rushing by. A lacrosse player. They started to move past but Malia looked instinctively to the number on the back and reached out to grab their arm before they could and pulled so they turned around, sans helmet.

No. 15 was the cute girl from lunch. Her hair now hung in two braids and she looked at Malia as though she were something from her nightmares.

Malia opened her mouth but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Every conversation she had planned slipped from her mind and seemed to be replaced with those stupid throbbing love hearts from cartoons. She let her arm fall and clenched her fists at her side, trying to calm herself and explain why she was there.

Before she could say anything, the redhead friend suddenly appeared between them and pulled the girl away — that vicious glare from lunch aimed at Malia again.

“Back off,” she said and kept her arms around the cute girl’s shoulders until they reached the lacrosse field and the cute girl ran to join her team.

Malia’s mind finally snapped back into rationality and she reached into her pocket for the pen, saying, “But——”

The redhead flipped her hair and ignored Malia as she climbed back up the bleachers to the place she sat yesterday. The brunette she was with stood by the stairs, frowning, having seen the whole encounter.

Malia focused on her, pulling the pen out and trying to explain. “Her pen, yesterday, she dropped it. I just thought … it looked cool and she might want it back.”

The brunette stared at the pen with wide eyes. “Oh.” She looked up at Malia. “ _Oh_.” She turned to scowl at the players on the field. “I’m going to kill Stiles. And possibly Lydia.”

Malia tilted her head. “What?”

The girl shook her head. “Nothing. Look, I know Lydia didn’t make the best impression, but you’re welcome to sit with us and give it back to her after training.”

Malia’s heart sped up as she was flooded with a mix of excitement and humiliation. She really wanted to but this was nothing like how she’d wanted to meet the girl from lunch.

“No, I can’t.” She shoved the pen at the brunette, who barely managed to grab it before it fell to the ground. “You’ll make sure she gets that, right?”

“Of course, but——”

“Thanks.” Malia started to walk away but the other girl spoke up before she could walk more than a step.

“Allison.”

Malia turned around. “What?”

“My name’s Allison.” She smiled. Allison was pretty too, with warm eyes and cute dimples.

Malia didn’t smile back but did meet her gaze. “I’m Malia.”

“I was the new girl for a while before Kira and then you, so I get how it feels. That wasn’t a one-time offer: you’re welcome to join me any time.”

Malia studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Sure, okay.” She was about to turn away again but stopped and looked back at Allison. “Wait, Kira?”

Allison grinned, her expression almost teasing, and waved the pen at her. “The girl who spent most of today mourning the loss of her favourite pen. She's going to be so grateful to have it back.”

Malia blushed. “Right”

“Are you sure you don’t want to give it to her yourself?”

Allison’s smile was encouraging but, looking around, Malia could see Lydia still glaring up in the bleachers and a few players on the field slowing down as they caught sight of her and Allison talking.

Malia shook her head. “I need to … not be here right now.”

Allison didn’t push it any further. “Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you Malia.”

“Yeah, likewise. And, thanks Allison.”

Allison waved to her as she turned to walk to the parking lot.

Malia got in her car and sighed, running her hands over her face. Today really hadn’t gone to plan. Still, she seemed to have made a good impression on one person. And she found out the name of the really cute girl from lunch.

“Kira,” she said to herself with a smile before she turned the ignition and drove away.

 

 

 

Malia's third morning at Beacon Hills High started uneventfully. She parked her car, walked down the crowded halls and made it to her locker without mishap or anyone staring. And she was still alone.

Malia looked at the copy of her schedule she'd stuck on the inside of her locker door and grabbed the relevant books for the next two classes. She put away her homework for her later classes, closed her locker, turned around and nearly bumped into Kira who had come up behind her without a sound.

"Geeze!" Malia couldn't help the tiny jump as she tried to move back. Kira copied her movements almost automatically, her hands — adorned with fishnet fingerless gloves today — raised in a gesture of apology.

"Ohmigod, I'm so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that."

Malia tucked her short hair behind her ears in an effort to compose herself. It didn't work. "That's okay," she said, still pretending nonchalance. "I'm sure it was my turn to be scared by someone jumping out at them unexpectedly."

Kira looked down, her long hair falling over her face as her shoulders slumped forward. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

Malia frantically shook her head, raising her own hands this time to placate Kira. “Whoa, no, wow, that was my attempt to make things less awkward, not poke fun. Clearly I fail at interacting with humans.”

Kira looked up with a small smile and said, “It's probably my fault. Awkward is kinda my general state of existence.”

Malia returned the smile. “Another thing we have in common then." Kira blushed; Malia coughed and broke eye contact. “So, uh ...”

“Allison told me what happened, yesterday, why you were at lacrosse. I really am so sorry for me and my friends. That wasn’t cool even if you weren't trying to do something nice for me.”

Malia shrugged, barely able to recall her embarrassment from yesterday now that Kira was in front of her and willingly talking to her. “I've never made the best first impressions. Give it a bit of time and it'll make a really funny story.”

Kira laughed, “Yeah, definitely one to make the grandkids squirm.” She paled as she realised what she may have implied. “I mean, that is … not, or, just ...”

Malia watched Kira fidget with the cords of her hoodie and stumble over her words and Malia felt her smile grow. Her gut tight and palms clammy, she decided to just put it out there. Life was difficult and confusing enough without tangling yourself in words you're not sure you want to say and missing opportunities you really wanted to take.

"Do you want to go to go out with me?”

Kira stopped stuttering, processing Malia's words, “Huh? What? Like … date?”

“Yeah,” Malia shrugged, pretending that her heart wasn't pounding so hard everyone in the hallway should have been able to hear it. “If you're interested, that is. Either way, I'd like to get to know you.”

“Yes!” Kira was a little too loud, drawing the attention of the other students — not that Malia noticed people staring much, considering what she'd just heard. “Interested, I am.” Kira groaned and slapped her forehead, dragging her hand down her face and peeking between her fingers. “Stop speaking like Yoda, I will.” She looked back up at Malia, blushing and smiling. Malia knew her own expression was almost a mirror for Kira's. “Yes, I would like to go out with you.”

“Great!” This time Malia was the loud one drawing attention. Kira laughed and Malia smiled at her.

The five minute warning bell rang and the other students in the hallway started shuffling towards class. Malia didn't want to let Kira go just yet.

“Can I walk you to class?” she asked.

“I'd love that!”

Kira held out her hand, then almost seemed to think better of it. But Malia grabbed it before she could draw it back and squeezed — smiling shyly at Kira, who beamed back.

As they walked hand-in-hand down the hall together, Malia finally asked a question that had been bothering her for a while. “Where'd you get a pen like that anyway? None of the stores around here have anything like it.”

Kira laughed and wrapped her other hand around their linked fingers as she turned towards Malia with a little skip. "Okay, so, it's actually kind of a funny story. I'd finally convinced my parents to let me go to my first convention but my dad insisted on chaperoning..."

Malia listened avidly to Kira's story about that disastrous first con experience, hand almost too warm between Kira's, and started to believe that the rest of her time here was going to be fantastic.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr: [ladyvialana](http://ladyvialana.tumblr.com)


End file.
